Felton 
The  Horse-shoe 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


HORSE-SHOE: 

A     P  0  E  M 


SPOKEN    BEFORE 


THE  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY  IN  CAMBRIDGE, 


J  ULY,19,    1849, 


JOHN    BROOKS    FELTON, 


CAMBRIDGE: 

PUBLISHED  BY   JOHN    BARTLETT. 
1849. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849,  by 

JOHN    B ARTLETT, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

METCALF     AND     COMPANY, 

PRINTERS   TO   THE   UNIVERSITY. 


THE    HORSE-SHOE. 


JUST  over  the  way,  with  its  front  to  the  street, 
Up  one  flight  of  stairs,  is  a  room  snug  and  neat. 
The  prospect  Mark  Tapley  right  jolly  would  call ;  — 
Three  churches,  one  grave-yard,  one  bulging  brick 

wall, 

Where,  raven-like,  Science  gloats  over  her  wealth, 
And  the  skeleton  grins  at  the  lectures  on  health. 
The  tree  by  the  window  has  twice  hailed  the  spring, 
Since  we  circled  its  trunk  our  last  chorus  to  sing ; 

876787 


4  THE    HORSE-SHOE. 

Maidens  laughed  at  our  shouts,  they  knew  better 

than  we, 
And  the  world  clanked  its  chains  as  we  cried  "  We 

are  free." 

Oft  as  twilight  confuses  day's  sharply  drawn  line, 
Its  branches  seem  harps  to  the  wind's  "  Auld  Lang 

Syne," 
And  the  dance  of  its  shadows  the  quick  springing 

tread 
Of  the  many  all  scattered,  the  one  that  is  dead. 

On  the  wall  hangs  a  Horse-shoe  I  found  in  the 

street ; 

'T  is  the  shoe  that  to-day  sets  in  motion  my  feet ; 
Though  its  charms  are  all  vanished  this  many  a 

year, 

And  not  even  my  "  goody  "  regards  it  with  fear, 
'T  is  a  comfort,  while  Europe,  to  freedom  awoke, 
Is  chirping  like  chickens  just  free  from  their  yolk, 


THE   HORSE-SHOE. 


To  think  Pope  and  Monarch  their  kingdoms  may 

lose ; 
Yet  I  hang  my  subject  wherever  I  choose. 


Small  though  my  theme,  perchance,  if  rightly 

sought 

Its  rust  is  stamped  with  ages'  fossilled  thought. 
They  are  but  dreamers  who,  with  frenzied  eye, 
Gaze  on  the  mountain  lifting  to  the  sky,  — 
Thrill  with  vague  rapture  to  the  water's  call, 
Where  hoarse  Niagara  thunders  to  its  fall. 
But  he  whom  Nature  hails  her  chosen  seer, 
And  breathes  her  inmost  secrets  in  his  ear, 
Makes  the  light  scratches  on  the  rocky  side 
Disclose  where  swept  the  glacier-heaving  tide,  — 
The  rounded  pebble  tell  where  moaned  of  yore 
The  wind-chased  waves  in  vain  to  find  a  shore. 

Laugh  if  you  will,  who  imps  nor  devils  fear, 
Whom  dark  appals  not,  phantoms  come  not  near, 


THE    HORSE-SHOE. 


Along  whose  nerves  no  quick  vibrations  dart 
As  teeming  Twilight's  shadowy  offspring  start ; 
Not  yours  to  feel  the  joy  with  which  I  flew 
To  snatch  the  rusty,  worn,  but  lucky  shoe. 

Oft  have  I  heard  them  chattering  at  my  door, 
The  hags,  whose  dances  beat  the  shrinking  moor  ; 
Oft  have  I  sprung  from  nightmare-haunted  rest, 
And  gasped  an  "  oro  "  from  my  panting  breast, 
As  forms,  that  vanished  ere  the  half-shut  eye 
With  fright  could  open,  from  their  revels  fly. 
Henceforth,  good  Horse-shoe,  vain  shall  be  their  ride  ; 
Their  spells  are  baffled,  and  their  rage  defied. 

Yet  are  there  none  but  witches  bent  on  ill, 
And  imps  of  Hell,  the  shadowy  world  that  fill  ? 
Is  naught  more  potent  than  my  Horse-shoe  found, 
To  call  good  spirits  from  their  homes  around  ? 
Still  must  I  walk  in  dread  of  unseen  hurt, 
And  be  all  lonely,  or  by  bad  begirt  ? 


THE   HORSE-SHOE. 


The  ban-dog  howls  his  portents  at  the  gate, 
And  ticks  the  death-watch  his  alarm  of  fate  ; 
In  all  her  myriad  tongues  has  Night  no  voice 
To  speak  good  omens,  —  bid  the  heart  rejoice  ? 

And  she,  to  whom  all  hope,  all  love  had  clung, 
And  life  was  vacant  when  her  death-knell  rung,  — 
Say,  why  should  come  the  quivering  start  of  fear, 
When  she,  so  fondly  cherished,  hovers  near  ? 
Of  virtue's  likeness  do  we  shrink  afraid  ? 
Has  death  a  devil  of  an  angel  made  ? 

From  scenes  like  this  how  glad  the  Fancy  flies, 
Where  jocund  spirits  fill  the  earth  and  skies,  — 
Where  roams  the  shepherd  o'er  the  vine-clad  hill, 
And  hears  the  Naiad  murmur  in  the  rill ! 
Now  tunes  his  pipes  to  sing  how  Venus  came 
With  fatal  joys  to  crown  a  shepherd's  flame, 
And  blest  Apollo  leads  his  flocks  to  graze, 
While  forests  listen  as  the  master  plays  ! 


O  THE    HORSE-SHOE. 

Or  as  he  sleeps,  with  noon-tide  heat  opprest, 
He  knows  the  Dryads  watch  to  shield  his  rest, 
Starts  from  his  dreams  to  see,  nor  feels  affright, 
Their  trailing  garments  fading  from  his  sight ! 

The  lovers  walk  where  still  the  Poplar  keeps 
A  sister's  vigil,  and  in  amber  weeps  ; 
Around,  the  Hyacinth  still  sighs,  Alas  ! 
Acantha  breathes  love's  sorrows  as  they  pass  : 
The  light  that  steeps  the  clouds  in  glittering  dyes 
Is  Venus  laughing  through  her  thin  disguise  ; 
On  trees  the  birds,  the  conscious  stars  above, 
All  give  them  welcome,  for  they  once  could  love. 

Harmonious  all,  no  fallen  angel  strove 
With  hostile  thunder  'gainst  the  arms  of  Jove  ; 
Hell's  gloomy  monarch  owned  superior  might, 
And  Hell's  grave  judges  spake  the  doom  of  Right ; 
The  Furies  shook  their  torch  and  scorpion  scourge, 
And  hissed  their  snakes,  the  parricide  to  urge  ; 


THE    HORSE-SHOE.  9 

But  sable  Night  to  him  no  spectre  brought 
Whose  heart  was  conscious  of  no  guilty  thought. 

When  Fancy  thus  enrobed  with  Iris  hues 
Her  sportive  Naiad  and  her  heaven-born  Muse, 
Frisked  in  the  sunbeam  with  her  blithesome  train, 
And  led  the  dance  o'er  moon-illumined  plain, 
Reason  to  her  a  willing  homage  gave, 
Played  with  his  chains,  and  joyed  to  be  a  slave  ; 
Pleased  through  her  eyes  he  saw  the  flowerets  wave, 
Wrought  by  some  god  his  mistress'  gorgeous  grave. 
On  high  old  Etna  blazing  turrets  piled,  — 
A  mother  lit  them  when  she  sought  her  child. 
As  frantic  fled  the  bark,  and  chasing  gales 
Laid  hundred  hands  on  mast  and  rending  sails, 
Vain,  open-mouthed,  the  billows  leaped  to  'whelm, 
When  circling  flames  showed  Castor  at  the  helm. 
The  sun  is  mirrored  in  a  thousand  shields, 
And  flame-tipt  lances  shake  on  bristling  fields ;  — 
Who  fears  to  fellow,  where,  with  nodding  crest, 
A  god-born  hero  towers  above  the  rest, 


10  THE   HORSE-SHOE. 

Seeks  the  front  foe,  while  all  a  mortal's  fears 
Cloud  the  bright  eyes  that  o'er  him  watch  in  tears  ? 
Who  questions  laws  the  nymph  Egeria  brings 
Her  regal  lover  by  their  trysting  springs  ? 
Who  dares  the  action  of  a  god  to  blame, 
When  Jove  his  statutes  writes  in  living  flame  ? 

Long  looked  the  Poet ;  —  tell  us,  Greece,  how 

vain,  — 

Speak  from  thy  lonely  grot,  thy  ruined  plain,  — 
That  day  again  should  dawn  of  heavenly  birth, 
And  gods  and  heroes  blend  with  men  on  earth. 
But  hark  !  —  from  land  to  land  the  tidings  fly,  — 
There  is  one  God,  his  home  is  in  the  sky  ! 

Bound  in  his  chains,  he  heard  the  echoes  ring, 
Leaped  from  his  thrall,  and  Reason  owned  his  king, — 
One  God  ;  —  the  lightning  darts  in  vivid  light, 
But  Jove  no  longer  hurls  the  red  affright ;  — 
The  morning  sun  from  hill-tops  cheers  the  plain, 
No  more  Apollo  holds  the  courser's  rein  ;  — 


THE    HORSE-SHOE.  11 

Still  spring  the  flowers,  still  wave  the  leafy  trees, 
Nor  Ceres  plants,  nor  2Eolus  rules  the  breeze ;  — 
From  shrieking  caverns  startled  Echo  fled 
With  mournful  chorus  laden,  —  Pan  is  dead  I 

This  was  the  dawning  age,  the  looked-for  birth, 
This  was  its  sign,  —  the  gods  had  left  the  earth. 
For  all  the  beauty  that  informed  the  world, 
The  might  that  shook  it,  and  the  wrath  that  hurled, 
The  love  that  smiled,  unseen,  in  cloud  and  air,  — 
All  flew  to  heaven,  and  found  their  centre  there. 

Amazed,  bewildered,  Fancy,  left  alone,  — 
The  good  she  wrought  with,  and  the  bright,  all 

flown,  — 

Shunned  with  a  dazzled  eye  the  streaming  light, 
And  wailed  her  bodings  in  the  ear  of  Night. 
Enwrapped  in  gloom,  her  busy  thoughts  recall 
The  mighty  captive  that  had  burst  her  thrall ;  — 
What  though  he  mocked  her  charms  and  soft  caress  ? 
She  could  not  win  him,  —  still  she  might  oppress. 


12  THE    HORSE-SHOE. 

Anew  her  plastic  hands  the  evil  mould 
That  still  was  left  her  from  the  gods  of  old  : 
The  tyrant  might  of  Zeus,  Apollo's  pest, 
The  rage  that  heaves  in  Ares'  shaggy  breast, 
The  lust  that  gloats  through  Aphrodite's  grace, 
And  maudlin  Bacchus'  laugh  and  wine-flushed  face  ; 
The  craft  of  Kronos,  dire  Erinnys'  train, 
And  kindred  Murder,  red  with  reeking  stain ; 
The  deepest  night  o'er  drear  Avernus  spread, 
The  livid  gloom  and  pallor  of  the  dead  ;  — 
From  these  her  fingers  wrought  so  foul  a  crew, 
She  shrank  in  terror  from  the  shapes  she  drew  ; 
To  demon  life  her  weird  creations  swell,  — 
Her  Heaven  unpeopled,  she  was  queen  of  Hell. 

Yet  in  the  new-revealed  harmonious  plan 
Of  God  creator,  and  created  man, 
No  place  was  found  tliis  hellish  brood  could  claim, 
Children  of  Evil,  faithful  to  their  dame. 
No  Furies  they,  to  wield  the  avenging  rod,  — 
The  judge,  rewarder,  punisher,  was  God. 


THE    HORSE-SHOE.  13 

Not  theirs  in  glowing  hues  to  paint  the  sin,  — 
Man  heard  his  devil  whisper  "  yield  "  within  ; 
On  the  same  branch  his  good  and  evil  grew, 
And  tempted  passion  was  the  tempter  too. 
They  could  not  cloak  with  good  their  purpose  fell,  — 
Their  flouting  standard  rose,  inscribed  "  Rebel." 
Rebels  from  God,  a  Titan  war  they  wage, 
And  meet  his  thunder  with  opposing  rage. 
In  impish  force  they  swarm  o'er  Nature's  face, 
Seize  the  old  haunts  of  Naiad,  Muse,  and  Grace, 
Invest  the  clouds,  make  chariots  of  the  blast, 
And  wheel  exulting  round  the  fated  mast  ; 
In  Nature's  voices  omens  dread  they  speak, 
Croak  in  the  raven's  cry,  the  owl's  lone  shriek, 
Howl  in  the  wind,  in  rustling  branches  moan, 
And  make  the  mantle  of  the  night  their  own. 

For  Death,  consoler,— Death,  whose  pitying  eyes 
Smile  on  the  mourner  through  the  dark  disguise,  — 
The  grim  Usurper  led  with  bony  hand 
His  comrade  Horror  through  the  shrinking  land, 


14  THE    HORSE-SHOE. 

With  touch  polluting  sealed  the  loathed  doom, 
Then  called  the  shrouded  victim  from  his  tomb  ;  - 
And  eyes  that  sought  his  living  look  the  most 
Glazed,  terror-fastened,  on  the  fleeting  ghost. 

In  cloistered  gloom  the  pensive  nun,  apart, 
Stilled  the  deep  whispers  of  her  yearning  heart,  - 
Wept  at  the  sin,  when  gushed  the  pent-up  sigh, 
As  Nature  drew  the  still  unsevered  tie,  — 
Shuddered  to  feel  her  smile  no  joy  expressed, 
As  fell  the  pall  around  her  heaving  breast. 
Through  latticed  pane  she  saw  the  shadows  chase 
The  sunbeam  blushing  in  the  flower's  embrace  ; 
Day's  flaming  ensign  by  the  clouds  upborne, 
Where  paints  the  Sun  his  promise  of  the  morn ; 
And  while  each  fibre  trembled  at  the  sight, 
And  all  her  being  thrilled  to  feel  delight, 
The  voice  she  heard,  she  knew  not  from  above,  — 
She  tried  to  still  it,  —  These  were  made  to  love  ! 


THE    HORSE-SHOE.  15 

The  warrior  youth,  his  casque  in  reverence  laid, 
Kneels  at  the  shrine  where  she  in  silence  prayed ; 
From  sacred  lips  is  poured  the  inspiring  word, 
And  holy  hands  the  hallowed  armour  gird. 
Far,  far  away,  where  blazoned  banners  wave, 
And  Paynim  foot  insults  the  Saviour's  grave, 
His  hand  must  give,  his  breast  must  dare  the  blow, 
His  sword  through  blood  his  path  to  Heaven  must 

mow. 

The  organ's  swell,  the  hymn  that  triumph  sings, 
Bear  not  her  soul  on  upward-soaring  wings  ; 
Earthward  they  float  her,  where,  her  home  beside, 
The  forest's  arms  defend  the  rippling  tide. 
As,  pleased,  the  moon  her  dimpling  face  surveys, 
And  gilds  the  flatterer  brook  with  silver  rays, 
Love  in  two  hearts  his  brighter  self  beholds, 
And,  glad,  his  mirrors  with  his  light  enfolds ; 
Quick  press  the  questions  on  the  soft  reply, 
That  bares  each  feeling  to  the  lover's  eye  ; 
The  new-born  raptures  change  to  longings  fast, 
And,  all  her  future  his,  he  craves  her  past. 


16  THE    HORSE-SHOE. 

One  thought  she  speaks  not,  —  how  can  lips  express 
The  love  that  fills  her  with  its  sweet  excess  ? 
One  thought  he  asks  not,  for  he  sees  it  veil 
The  eye,  that  droops  while  his  would  tell  its  tale  ; 
Feels  the  quick  throb  an  answering  throb  impart, 
And  hears  it  pulsate  to  his  echoing  heart. 

As  still  old  memories  through  her  bosom  burn, 
Back  with  the  music's  hush  her  thoughts  return  ; 
The  dooming  cross  the  steel-clad  warrior  bears, 
And  vows  ne'er  broken  give  his  life  to  prayers. 
She,    bride    of   Heaven,  —  the   darkening    canvas 

gleams 

With  frowning  eyes,  that  read  her  guilty  dreams  ; 
From  watch-worn  faces  set  in  monkish  cowl, 
The  exulting  fiends,  that  mocked  religion,  scowl ; 
Terror,  remorse  her  burthened  spirit  wring, 
That  still  her  heart  to  earthly  joys  should  cling, 
And  tears  bewail  the  crime,  —  that  He  above 
Made  her  like  Him,  and  gave  His  power  to  love.; 


THE    HORSE-SHOE.  17 

Anxious  she  strives,  and  nature  yields  at  last ; 
The  springing  impulse  with  her  youth  has  past ; 
Love,  Hope,  and  Passion  vex  no  more  her  breast, 
Nor  dreams  of  joy  invade  her  vacant  rest. 
With  listless  eye  she  counts  each  tiny  thread, 
Spun  by  the  spider  for  his  swinging  bed, 
Tells  in  dull  apathy  her  daily  beads, 
Chants  the  same  hymn,  the  wonted  service  reads. 
As  treads  the  Arab  careless  o'er  the  mound, 
That  hides  a  city  wrapt  hi  sleep  profound, 
Nor   dreams  the  winds    the   crumbling  soil  have 

spread 

O'er  hearts  once  beating,  and  o'er  glory  fled  ;  — 
None  in  her  soulless  eye  and  stony  face 
The  buried  heart  that  sleeps  beneath  can  trace, 
Whose  throb  could  echo  to  a  lover's  claim, 
And  Hope's  fond  presage  of  a  mother's  name. 

For  over  all  earth  has  of  good  and  true 
Hovered  in  gloom  Imagination's  crew ; 

2 


18  THE    HORSE-SHOE. 

Through  din  of  war,  in  blaze  of  martyr's  pile, 
Is  heard  their  fury  and  is  seen  their  smile  ; 
They  wrote  the  laws,  —  their  forms  the  shadows  fling 
That  shroud  with  awe  the  splendor  of  the  king. 

For  hags  that  hail  Macbeth,  where  spreads  the 

wold, 

And  fiends  that  wheel  round  Faust  in  spiral  fold, 
No  angel  seeks  the  sin-encompassed  soul, 
Lures  it  to  good,  and  tempts  it  to  its  goal. 
If  lighter  fancies  fill  the  poet's  dream, 
And  sportive  Fairies  haunt  the  wood  and  stream, 
The  mother  hears,  and  springs  with  terror  wild, 
To  dread  a  changeling  where  she  clasped  a  child. 
Fain  from  the  night  the  master  mind  would  burst, 
In  dancing  forms  of  joy  and  music  nursed  ; 
Yet  Ariel  skims,  nor  ripples,  Ocean's  breast, 
And  draws  with  unseen  harp  the  Island  guest,  — 
Creature  nor  good  nor  bad,  —  the  embodied  sigh 
Of  prisoned  winds,  that  long  at  will  to  fly, 


THE    HORSE-SHOE.  19 

To  sail  the  clouds,  or  toss  the  fleecy  foam, 
Then  furl  their  wings  and  make  the  rose  their  home. 
The  moan  that  vibrates  through  the  rocky  cave 
Where  curbs  the  -ZEolian  king  the  ceaseless  rave 
Changes  to  blasts  when,  rent  the  mountain  side, 
The  winds  leap  forth  hi  storm  and  foam  to  ride, 
Roars  in  the  wave  that  sweeps  the  shattered  deck, 
Then  sighs  remorseful  round  the  sinking  wreck. 

Sure  that  no  angel  form  it  was  they  viewed, 
Who  met  a  spirit  asked  not,  "  Is  it  good  ?  " 
Crouched  by  the  hearth  they  heard  the  Demon's  call* 
And  hung  the  averting  Horse-shoe  on  the  wall. 

When  cares  that  swarm  in  glare  of  day  are  o'er, 
And  on  the  world  Sleep  shuts  his  filmy  door, 
How  glad  the  mind  its  prison  quits  awhile, 
And  leaves  on  murmuring  lips  a  parting  smile  ! 
Through  joys  that  flash  in  quick  succession  by, 
Through  glories  born  in  transient  hues  to  die, 


20  THE    HORSE-SHOE. 

* 

Passive  it  floats  ;  nor  marring  wonder  chills, 
As  wizard  dream  each  day-mocked  hope  fulfils  ; 
Calls  from  the  past  the  love  unchanged  to  rise, 
The  eye  to  sparkle  in  the  dust  that  lies  ; 
Memory  forgets,  as  bursts  the  enchanting  view, 
And  Reason  yields,  nor  asks  if  this  be  true. 

How  oft  by  day,  from  thoughts  that  bid  it  weep, 
The  eye  seeks  refuge  in  the  mimic  sleep, 
And  soars  the  mind,  and,  soaring,  strives  to  deem 
Its  dreams  the  real,  the  sun-lit  world  a  dream  ! 
How  blest,  when  Night's  miscalled  gloom  draws  nigh 
To  light  the  soul's,  but  dim  the  body's  eye, 
Could  thoughts  thus  wander,  rescued  from  annoy, 
Were  Eve  sure  usher  to  advancing  joy  !  — 
Oft  on  its  wing  the  kindly  dream  to  find, 
Home  to  the  body  stoops  the  cowering  mind,  — 
Convulsive  strives,  as  elfish  forms  appal, 
To  heave  the  limb  unyielding  to  its  call,  — 


THE    HORSE-SHOE.  21 

Struggles    in   dread,   though    conscious   they  but 

seem,  — 
Shudders,  yet  whispers,  These  are  all  a  dream. 

As  morn,  unwished  for,  from  Atreides  drove 
The  false-tongued  vision  of  the  scheming  Jove, 
Yet  still  around  the  godlike  voice  was  poured, 
Sent  to  unsheathe  the  shame-avenging  sword,  — 
So  dawned  the  light  on   eyes    that  shunned    its 

beam, 

As  fled  the  glories  of  the  classic  dream ;  ' 
So  round  the  mind  above  Judea's  news 
Still  rang  the  echoes  of  the  vanished  Muse, 
And  Science,  freed,  forgets  her  sterner  lore, 
To  wear  the  chains  she  wantoned  in  before. 

Go,  when  the  shades  with  noiseless  feet  advance, 
And  say,  what  see  you  in  the  broad  expanse,  — 
Worlds'  age-kept  secrets  all  by  Science  shown, 
Each  distance  measured,  every  orbit  known  ? 


22  THE    HORSE-SHOE. 

No ;  —  still  Orion's  sword  the  gods  defies, 
Still  for  their  sister  watch  the  Pleiads'  eyes. 
O'er  this  vast  temple  bends  the  pictured  dome 
Where  Hero  Virtue  found  eternal  home,  — 
Where  gods  who  could  not  save,  enshrined  above, 
In  frames  of  darkness  set,  their  mortal  Love. 
So  soars  the  mind  along  the  starry  gleams, 
Back  to  the  night  that  teemed  with  glorious  dreams. 

See  where  discrowned  the  suppliant  Pontiff  flies, 
Doffs  the  tiara,  dons  the  servile  guise  ! 
List  to  the  shout  that  sweeps  the  Pontine  plains, 
Like  Adria  surging  o'er  the  tyrant's  chains  ! 

He  flies,  but  not  alone  ;  beside  him  scowl 
The  baffled  fiends  that  lurked  beneath  the  cowl, 
That  nerved  the  arm  remorseless  to  destroy,  — 
Snatched  from  the  nun  life's  proffered  cup  of  joy,  — 
Danced  in  the  blaze  where  shone  the  martyr's  mien, 
Kindled  with  stronger  light  in  faith  serene,  — 


THE    HORSE-SHOE.  23 

Oppressed  the  mind  in  myriad  shapes  abhorred,  — 
Fancy's  dark  brood,  surround  their  trembling  lord. 

Take  your  last  gaze  where  Rome  to  freedom  thrills, 
As  her  third  era  lights  her  storied  hills  ; 
Ne'er  shall  again  the  awakened  mind  recall 
The  dream  that  held  it  in  a  hated  thrall, 
When  Reason  saw,  and,  conscious  of  his  sleep, 
Shuddered,  and  vainly  struggled  to  upleap, 
Till  on  his  haunted  rest  through  welcome  dawn 
Poured  in  the  joy  that  cometh  with  the  morn. 

Sent  from  the  Ark,  the  dove,  with  timid  flight, 
Strove  through  the  storms,  yet  found  not  where  to 

light ; 

Pursued  by  winds  o'er  restless  Ocean's  roar, 
Back  to  the  Flood-tossed  crew  no  leaf  she  bore. 
So  through  the  Past  man's  tempestdriven  mind 
Sent  Fancy  forth  some  resting-place  to  find ; 
O'er  bush,  tree,  hill,  she  winged  her  trackless  way, 
Nor  foothold  found  her  weary  flight  to  stay  ; 


24  THE    HORSE-SHOE. 

Back  o'er  the  sea  on  terror-haunted  air 

She  flew,  to  tell  the  tidings  of  despair  ;  — 

Again  she  flies  for  fairer  forms  to  seek, 

And  lo  !  the  olive  borne  upon  her  beak ! 

Hear  her  glad  news  ;  —  she  rested  on  the  tomb, 

Saw  the  dawn  break,  and  flit  the  ancient  gloom  ; 

Through  night  she  swept,  and  heard  the  gentle  fall 

Of  angel  footsteps  in  its  silent  hall ; 

Upborne  from  earth,  in  strong  and  joyous  flight, 

Fearless  she  sought  the  empyrean  height,  — 

Gazed  on  the  source  whence  pours  the  living  ray 

On  earth's  time-shadows,  God's  eternal  day. 

And  not  in  vain  this  striving  of  the  soul 
To  burst  her  bondage,  and  to  grasp  the  whole  : 
The  bird,  when  memory  stirs  his  little  breast 
Of  heavenward  flight,  green  tree,  and  wind-rocked 

nest,  — 

Of  song  that  hailed  the  sun  ere  fled  the  star,  — 
But  chafes  his  pinion  'gainst  the  prison-bar  ; 


THE    HORSE-SHOE.  25 

In  vain  he  hymns  the  -woodland,  lake,  and  hill, 
And  captive  yearnings  make  more  sweet  his  trill ; 
No  mate,  responsive  to  his  warbling,  flies, 
With  him  his  grief  begins,  with  him  it  dies. 

But  when  the  soul  has  glimpse  of  brighter  day, 
And  frets  to  burst  its  dungeon-wall  of  clay, 
By  earnest  striving  are  its  wings  made  strong, 
And  earnest  yearnings  give  new  power  to  song. 
From  other  hearts  come  echoes  to  the  strain 
That  breathes,  This  life  is  but  a  captive  pain. 
So,  to  the  fuel  that  it  feeds  on  bound, 
Leaps  the  live  flame  to  pierce  the  dark  profound, 
Darts  quivering  up,  retreats  again  to  try, 
Through  sooty  vista,  for  a  glimpse  of  sky ; 
Still,  as  its  rage  the  crackling  log  consumes, 
The  more  it  strives,  the  more  its  light  illumes, 
While  other  flames  upspring  in  spiral  dance, 
And  radiate  warmth  with  every  upward  glance. 


26  THE    HORSE-SHOE. 

Yet  not  alone  from  night,  and  haunted  rill, 
And  charnel-house,  have  flown  the  shapes  of  ill ;  — 
From  costly  shrine,  by  holy  zeal  adored, 
With  witch  and  phantom,  flies  the  Temple's  lord. 

As  sings  the  Poet,  once  the  Tempter  came, 
Disguised  in  angel  feature,  garb,  and  name, 
Received  glad  welcome,  set  the  wily  snare, 
And  scattered  fear  and  doubt  with  pious  air ; 
Till  gleams  from  Heaven  around  his  forehead  played, 
Flashed    on    the    mask,  —  the    leering   fiend   dis 
played  ;  — 

So  in  the  light  stands  Mars,  the  blood-defiled, 
The  scowling  demon  who  a  godhead  smiled. 

What  though  the  homage  lingers  still,  that  wept 
Beside  the  tomb  where  Hector's  ashes  slept  ? 
Though  Freedom's  self  beholds  her  Nation's  lord 
Stand  like  Orion,  with  uplifted  sword, 
Raised  to  the  stars,  for  heart  untaught  to  swerve, 
The  stalwart  arm,  the  death-defying  nerve  ; 


THE    HORSE-SHOE.  27 

Though  with  the  notes  of  terror  Europe  rings, 
The  reaper.  War,  to  gleaning  Famine  sings  ;  — 
'T  is  but  the  dream  that  whispered  words  of  ill, 
The  false-tongued  dream,  whose  accents  linger  still. 

Home  from  the  hall,  whence  oft  his  trembling  voice, 
Heard  through  the  world,  bade  sorrowing  hearts 

rejoice, 

The  car  of  triumph,  though  the  dark  plumes  wave, 
Bearsthe  true  hero  to  his  village  grave. 

Give  Fancy  rein ;  —  the  varying  shadows  rise 
From  olden  times,  and  play  along  the  skies  ; 
To  build  the  fabled  boast  of  other  days, 
The  stars  in  clusters  blend  their  tiny  rays  ; 
And  treads  the  Hero,  as  of  old  he  trod, 
Clothed  in  the  strength  that  made  him  felt  a  god. 

Gaze  once  again ;  —  when  truth  and  knowledge 

lead, 
No  more  the  heavens  bestow  the  warrior's  meed  ; 


28  THE  HORSE-SHOE. 

No  more  the  stars  incite  to  rage  the  soul, 
But,  each  a  world,  in  solemn  order  roll ; 
Peace  wraps  the  mind,  as  falls  the  softened  light 
In  milder  radiance  on  the  undazzled  sight : 
Lighted  by  them,  are  seen  enthroned  on  high, 
Virtue  and  Love,  the  exemplars  of  the  sky. 


As  now  my  thoughts  like  clustering  bees  have 

clung 

To  thee,  my  Horse-shoe,  o'er  the  lintel  hung, 
The  future  bard,  with  song  more  richly  fraught,  — 
Some  reverenced  wrong  the  nucleus  of  his  thought, 
Some  relic  crown  or  virtuoso's  gun, 
Some  nation's  banner  when  all  earth  is  one,  — 
Back  through  the  past  in  mournful  strain  shall  wind 
Where  demon  fancies  vex  the  darkling  mind, 
Where  light  but  faintly  streaks  the  dappled  sky, 
Nor  Morn  has  shot  his  glittering  shafts  on  high  ; 
Trembling  with  grief  and  hope,  his  lyre  shall  thrill 
To  twilight  times  of  blending  good  and  ill, 


THE  HORSE-SHOE.  29 

Where  whizz  of  bullets,  and  the  clanking  chain, 
Jar  on  the  praise  of  Peace  and  Freedom's  reign. 
In  louder  strains  shall  burst  the  exulting  close, 
That  sounds  the  triumph  o'er  the  struggling  foes,  — 
The  slave  unbound,  War's  iron  tongues  all  dumb,  — 
His  glorious  Present,  our  all  hail  To  Come, 
All  hail  To  Come,  when  East  and  West  shall  be  — 
While  rolls  between  the  undividing  sea  — 

i 

Two,  like  the  brain,  whose  halves  ne'er  think  apart, 
But  beat  and  tremble  to  one  throbbing  heart ! 


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The  horse-shoe 
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